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After the main party had left Everest Base Camp, according to German explorer Bruno Sigl, who was on a reconnaissance mission for a possible future German attempt on Everest, Sigl witnessed thirty-two-year-old Lord Percival Bromley, brother of the fifth Marquess of Lexeter, and a German or Austrian climber whom Sigl identified as Kurt Meyer, being swept away by an avalanche between Camp V and Camp VI. Young Bromley—Lord Percival—while not a formal member of the Mallory Expedition led by Colonel Norton, had followed the expedition from Darjeeling to the Everest Base Camp. Although the monsoon season had arrived and Colonel Norton’s expedition had retreated from the mountain, it is thought that perhaps Lord Percival and Meyer were making one final attempt to locate Mallory and Irvine. The bodies of Lord Percival and the German or Austrian climber were not recovered.
I lower the paper again.
“Lord Bromley, a peer of your realm, dies on Mount Everest and it barely makes the newspaper,” mutters Jean-Claude. “It is all Mallory. Mallory and Irvine.”
“ ‘Lord Percival’ or ‘Lord Percy’ is how we say it in England,” the Deacon says very softly. “ ‘Lord Bromley’ is his older brother, the marquess. And Percy Bromley would have been a poor excuse for a peer even if he had been next in line. George Mallory, although from a humble background, was the royalty on that expedition.” The Deacon stands, puts his hands in his trouser pockets, and strolls away down the narrow ridge, his head lowered. He looks like nothing so much as an absent-minded professor walking on campus, pondering some esoteric problem in his field.
When the Deacon is out of hearing range, I whisper to Jean-Claude, “Did he know Mallory or Irvine?”
Jean-Claude looks at me and then leans closer, speaking so softly that it is almost a whisper even though the Deacon is many yards away. “Irvine? I do not know, Jake. But Mallory…yes, the Deacon knew him for many years. Before the War they were students in the same small college in Cambridge. During the War they crossed paths on the battlefields many times. The Deacon was invited by Mallory to go on the nineteen twenty-one reconnaissance and nineteen twenty-two Everest climbing expeditions, and did so. But there was no invitation from Mallory or the Alpine Club for this year’s attempt on Everest.”
“Good heavens!” Before today I thought I’d really begun to know my two new friends and climbing partners. Now it seems that I know—and knew—almost nothing. “It could have been Mallory and the Deacon, rather than young Sandy Irvine, missing on Everest,” I whisper to J.C.
Jean-Claude bites his chapped lip, looks to make sure that the Deacon is still far away on the Italian-side summit, seeming to be staring out at nothing.
“No, no,” whispers Jean-Claude. “During the first two expeditions, Mallory and the Deacon had several…how do you say it in English?…falling-downs.”
For a moment I imagine the two climbers falling while roped together but then understand. “Falling-out,” I say.
“ Oui, oui. Serious outfallings, I am afraid. I am sure that Mallory had not spoken to the Deacon since they returned from the ’twenty-two expedition.”
“Falling-outs over what?” I whisper. The wind has risen again and is blowing icy pellets of summit snow into our faces.
“The first expedition…it was officially called a reconnaissance expedition, but the actual goal for Mallory and the others was to find the fastest route to the mountain through all the icefalls and glaciers at its base, and then begin climbing as soon as possible. I know that both Deacon and Mallory believed they might summit during that first effort in nineteen twenty-one.”
“Ambitious,” I murmur. The Deacon is still at his remote perch on the Italian end of the summit ridge. With the wind now blowing even more strongly from his direction, I doubt he could hear us even if we shouted.
After the main party had left Everest Base Camp, according to German explorer Bruno Sigl, who was on a reconnaissance mission for a possible future German attempt on Everest, Sigl witnessed thirty-two-year-old Lord Percival Bromley, brother of the fifth Marquess of Lexeter, and a German or Austrian climber whom Sigl identified as Kurt Meyer, being swept away by an avalanche between Camp V and Camp VI. Young Bromley—Lord Percival—while not a formal member of the Mallory Expedition led by Colonel Norton, had followed the expedition from Darjeeling to the Everest Base Camp. Although the monsoon season had arrived and Colonel Norton’s expedition had retreated from the mountain, it is thought that perhaps Lord Percival and Meyer were making one final attempt to locate Mallory and Irvine. The bodies of Lord Percival and the German or Austrian climber were not recovered.
I lower the paper again.
“Lord Bromley, a peer of your realm, dies on Mount Everest and it barely makes the newspaper,” mutters Jean-Claude. “It is all Mallory. Mallory and Irvine.”
“ ‘Lord Percival’ or ‘Lord Percy’ is how we say it in England,” the Deacon says very softly. “ ‘Lord Bromley’ is his older brother, the marquess. And Percy Bromley would have been a poor excuse for a peer even if he had been next in line. George Mallory, although from a humble background, was the royalty on that expedition.” The Deacon stands, puts his hands in his trouser pockets, and strolls away down the narrow ridge, his head lowered. He looks like nothing so much as an absent-minded professor walking on campus, pondering some esoteric problem in his field.
When the Deacon is out of hearing range, I whisper to Jean-Claude, “Did he know Mallory or Irvine?”
Jean-Claude looks at me and then leans closer, speaking so softly that it is almost a whisper even though the Deacon is many yards away. “Irvine? I do not know, Jake. But Mallory…yes, the Deacon knew him for many years. Before the War they were students in the same small college in Cambridge. During the War they crossed paths on the battlefields many times. The Deacon was invited by Mallory to go on the nineteen twenty-one reconnaissance and nineteen twenty-two Everest climbing expeditions, and did so. But there was no invitation from Mallory or the Alpine Club for this year’s attempt on Everest.”
“Good heavens!” Before today I thought I’d really begun to know my two new friends and climbing partners. Now it seems that I know—and knew—almost nothing. “It could have been Mallory and the Deacon, rather than young Sandy Irvine, missing on Everest,” I whisper to J.C.
Jean-Claude bites his chapped lip, looks to make sure that the Deacon is still far away on the Italian-side summit, seeming to be staring out at nothing.
“No, no,” whispers Jean-Claude. “During the first two expeditions, Mallory and the Deacon had several…how do you say it in English?…falling-downs.”
For a moment I imagine the two climbers falling while roped together but then understand. “Falling-out,” I say.
“ Oui, oui. Serious outfallings, I am afraid. I am sure that Mallory had not spoken to the Deacon since they returned from the ’twenty-two expedition.”
“Falling-outs over what?” I whisper. The wind has risen again and is blowing icy pellets of summit snow into our faces.
“The first expedition…it was officially called a reconnaissance expedition, but the actual goal for Mallory and the others was to find the fastest route to the mountain through all the icefalls and glaciers at its base, and then begin climbing as soon as possible. I know that both Deacon and Mallory believed they might summit during that first effort in nineteen twenty-one.”
“Ambitious,” I murmur. The Deacon is still at his remote perch on the Italian end of the summit ridge. With the wind now blowing even more strongly from his direction, I doubt he could hear us even if we shouted.
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